


Stars directing our fates

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Merlin, Crack, Destiny, Halloween, Humor, M/M, Magical Creatures, Mischief, Pixies, Smut, True Love's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 07:08:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5082439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Merlin finds that his destiny is quite literally written in the stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars directing our fates

**Author's Note:**

> With enormous thanks to Tari_Sue for the super-fast beta, and to Merlocked18 for the encouragement. You have no idea how much it matters. 
> 
> Written for Tavern Tales theme of the month for October: Fairies, spells, dark nights. First posted here http://tavern-tales.livejournal.com/16520.html?thread=1159048#t1159048. Thanks also to the tavern keepers and fellow denizens. *Clinks glasses*.

_The trouble with Samhain,_ Merlin thought, as he rushed to put out the fire that had erupted in Arthur’s undergarment drawer _, was that the damn pixies were getting too inventive._ He could hear this one cackling as it disappeared behind the skirting boards. Luckily, it had left a green, malodorous foot poking out. Grabbing it by the ankle, and with a quick spell to protect his ears from its squealing, Merlin tugged it free. It dangled upside-down by one ugly boot, so close to his face that its hooked nose nearly touched his. In its struggling, the pixie’s wings fluttered, raising a vile stink about its backside.

“Ugh! That’s enough!” said Merlin, nose wrinkling against the stench. “If you’re not careful, Prince Arthur will catch you and it’ll be curtains.”

“Huh. Bloody arrogant prat, that Arthur. Wanker. No better than his bleedin’ father.”

“That’ll be Prince Arthur to you! And don’t you dare talk about him like that.”

“Aaaarthur,” said the sprite, archly. Its breath smelt nearly as bad as its other end. “Of course, your precious Arthur could never do anything wrong, could he, Emrys?”

“What do you mean by that, you bothersome little gnome? And don’t call me Emrys, what if he hears?”

“It’s about time you told him, don’t you think?” The pixie’s voice was sly. “Destiny and all that. And I’m not a gnome. I feel quite insulted.”

“Pixie then. Answer my question.” Merlin rolled his eyes.

“Well. It’s obvious isn’t it. You, and your beloved bloody Arthur. You carry a torch for him, don’t you?”

“I do not!” Merlin felt heat creep up his face, giving the lie to his words.

It was true, of course. And it was all Arthur’s fault. Why, only that morning, when Merlin had been late with the sausages, Arthur had manhandled him up against the door, forcing one arm up behind his back, and muttered furious threats into his ear. And Arthur was a vigorous, muscular man, all taut skin and quick, decisive movements. Merlin really couldn’t be blamed that his cock had reacted so spectacularly to the feeling of being comprehensively dominated. It was fortunate that Arthur had dropped his arm and dismissed him, so he could run off and deal with his consequent discomfort in the privacy of his own chambers.

But he really didn’t see why all this was anyone else’s business. Let alone a pesky pixie who smelt of over-ripe cheese and rotting cabbage.

“You fancy him,” crowed the pixie in a sing-song voice. “You want to stick your hand down his pants and your tongue in his mouth. Not to mention his—”

“That’s enough!” Face aflame, Merlin strode over to the window. With a swift movement he pulled it open, using his free hand. He grimaced against the gust of cold air that blew in and made all the candles gutter. But at least it got rid of some of that foul odour. “Get out!”

“Don’t want to.”

“If you won’t get out, I’ll chuck you out!”

“You’ll regret it!”

“Try me.” Grimly, Merlin started to swing him back and forth in preparation for a really big throw.

“You need to te…ell him, you kno…ow,” said the pixie, his voice waxing and waning as Merlin’s swings grew bigger. “I’ve a mind to do something to help.”

“Don’t you dare.” Merlin was familiar with the sort of meddling that pixies routinely referred to as “help”.

“Aww. There was me thi…inking that an old fashioned lo…ove spell would do the trick. True love’s ki…iss and all that…”

“I’d rather you didn’t interfere.” Frowning, Merlin set up his final backswing.

“But Emrys! It’s your destinyyyyy!”

Merlin flung him out just as he dragged out this last syllable over several seconds and flew off, wings whirring, into the blustery night.

“And don’t come back,” Merlin shouted after him. Closing the window with a sigh of relief, he rubbed his hands together to rid himself of the pixie’s pong.

He didn’t have time to worry about the meaning of the phrase _“I’ve a mind to do something to help”_. Because that’s when Gwen burst in.

“Oh, Merlin, thank goodness I’ve found you! Come quickly: there’s a wight or something haunting the kitchen. It might be a banshee actually. At any rate, it’s making a dreadful noise, and Cook’s gone off in hysterics, threatening not to bake any pie for the feast!”

“No pie?” said Merlin, aghast. Bloody mischievous sprites, they’d gone too far, this time.

“Not only that, but a ghoul has got into Morgana’s antechamber, and is trying on all her dresses. It’s leaving trails of green slime, Merlin. Trails!”

“Hell’s bells!” Merlin turned away from the window at a run.

As he closed the door, he thought for a moment he faintly heard a far-away, demented cackling, and a faint voice saying “true love’s kiiiissss!”, but he ignored it. Because Samhain by itself was bad enough, but Samhain without pie? That really was a terror not to be countenanced.

*

By the time the servants had rid the citadel of the pixies, wights, ghouls, banshees and beasties, not to mention a persistent swarm of flatulent mini-trolls that had roamed the streets creating their own brand of havoc, it was nearly time for the feast to begin. He’d been rushed off his feet for hours, and was looking forward to availing himself to some leftover pie, when Gaius came shuffling up to him at what, for Gaius, approximated high speed.

“Merlin.” Gaius caught his elbow and raised an emphatic eyebrow.

“What is it now?” Merlin’s heart sank. “Not another fairy? The last one bit my finger.” It still hurt. Pouting, he gave it a little suck to emphasise his pain.

“No. It’s worse than that.” Gaius’s hushed whisper made Merlin feel even more concerned.

“What’s wrong?”

“You’d better come and see.” Gaius tugged his arm again. “This way. And quickly.”

It was lucky that the citadel was still a scurrying hive of frantic activity, that evening, with very little time for star-gazing. Because when Merlin and Gaius finally emerged out onto the battlements the wind had swept away the last scraps of cloud, leaving only the glowing canopy of stars. Which Gaius was pointing at.

Merlin didn’t know as much as Gaius about the constellations, it was true. But even with his limited astronomical skills, he could detect a problem.

“By all the gods of thunder and ruin,” he breathed. “That bloody pixie! I knew it was up to something.”

“So it would seem,” said Gaius, sounding too calm by half. “Well, the dragon always said that your destiny was written in the stars.”

“Yes.” Merlin, groaned, head in his hands. “But I don’t think he meant it literally,”.

For there, strewn across the heavens in scattered starlight, was the scrawled message, in loopy cursive handwriting:

 

_“Melrin lovs Artur”_

 

Beneath it, the waning half-moon illuminated a cloud in the shape of a love-heart, complete with cupid arrow,

“Luckily most of Camelot can’t read.” Merlin stared gloomily down at his boots. “And the pixies aren’t known for their ability to spell. Maybe no-one will realise it refers to me.” He was kidding himself, and he knew it.

“It looks almost pretty,” said Gaius with a chuckle. He tilted his head on one side. “Is there any truth to it?”

“No!” said Merlin, pitching his voice as low as possible, to sound nonchalant. And manly. “Definitely not. Not even the littlest amount. Me and Arthur? Don’t be silly! He’s an arrogant, sarcastic git with his brains in his sword arm. As it were. I mean, okay, he’s got stupid blond hair and these hideously muscly thighs. And his skin is quite attractive, I suppose, in an annoyingly golden way, with all those freckles dusting it. And a fine scattering of hair. All over his chest. But apart from that. Not the tiniest amount. No way, matey. Nope.” Realising that he was gabbling, Merlin clamped his stupid mouth shut, and resorted to violent shakings of his head to express the vehemence of his feelings.

“Really. You do seem to have thought about this. A lot.” Even in the darkness, Merlin could see that Gaius’s brows had adopted a distinctly sceptical tilt. “The love heart in the sky,” he added with a sly nudge to Merlin’s ribs. “It is rather romantic. Don’t you think?”

“Well, thanks for the critique, Gaius, but it’s got to go, before the nobles start coming up.” Frowning, Merlin racked his brains for a suitable spell. “There are always a few of them on the battlements snatching a clandestine snog with their paramours on Samhain, when they get tipsy.”

“Better do it quickly, then,” said Gaius. “I can hear footsteps.”

Sure enough, Gwaine’s inimitable tones floated up the stairwell. “I have always loved you, dear Janice.”

“Janet.”

“Janet. When I first saw your lips…”

Merlin groaned. He needed to do something, and quickly. By the sound of things, Gwaine would be with them in a matter of seconds. With a vague hand gesture, he waved his hand across the sky, muttering. A gust of cold air whispered across his skin, and clouds boiled and roiled at the edge of his vision. But the sky in the vicinity of the moon and its message remained stubbornly clear.

Bloody pixies and their Samhain magic. Despondent, Merlin slumped against the solid granite wall. To top it all, before he could try another spell, Gwaine was emerging out onto the battlements with a giggling kitchenmaid.

“What’s happened to the stars?” said Gwaine, to his lover. “They spell out a message. What could it possibly be, oh fair Janine?”

“Janet, sir. I don’t know sir, I’ve not learned my letters, sir.”

“Well I can tell you. It says: Janet and Gwaine should kiss, right now?”

“Oh sir!” She giggled, angling her face towards his.

“Ahem!” Merlin stepped out of the shadows with Gaius.

Janet screamed, hand fluttering across her throat.

“It’s all right my love, I will protect you!” Wrapping a protective arm around her waist, Gwaine peered into the gloom and laughed. “Merlin? Is that you? What are you up to?” Gwaine leered at him. “And is that Gaius? I wouldn’t have thought he was your type!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Gaius, dignity personified. “We were just dealing with a tipsy leprechaun. He was a long way from home. Apologies for the fright, Janet. I must say that the pie was very fine”

“Thank you sir.” She bobbed a curtsey, rather awkwardly as Gwaine’s arm was still firmly in place.

“And anyway,” Gaius added, in what Merlin thought was an unneccessarily knowing tone, “Merlin has other fish to fry.”

“Evidently,” said Gwaine with a chuckle, nodding at the message in the sky. “Set your sights high, haven’t you Merlin? Mind you, the princess wouldn’t say no to a snog, I’m sure.”

“I hate you all.” Feeling his face bunch up into a scowl, Merlin pushed past Gwaine and started to scurry down the stairs. “I’d put him down, if I were you, Janet. You don’t know where he’s been.”

“Oi!” protested Gwaine.

Surely the mischievous magic would have worn off by dawn. Surely! Otherwise – well. It just didn’t bear thinking about.

*

The next day, he emerged, blinking from his cot at first light and stumbled, groaning, to the citadel’s well. Tentatively risking a quick glance towards the heavens, he felt his heart sink.

“Why me?” he complained to the uncaring sky.

For although the stars were now obscured by the fiery brilliance of the dawn, the love heart was still there, in plain sight. Lit from beneath, it looked as if a blazing hand had ripped the secrets from Merlin’s heart and hung them in the sky for all to see. As Merlin watched, two clouds in the form of their misspelt names merged together, and in the morning light, the words gradually transformed into the shape of a sparkling, golden crown.

As he approached the water pump, he realised that he wasn’t the first there.

“Aaah! Merlin! Or should I say _Melrin_?” Gwen smiled as she looked up from her work. She sounded impossibly chirpy. “How’s the head this morning?”

“Awful.” Damn, damn, damn. He’d hoped to be early enough to miss the other servants. “I feel like my cranium has been crushed in a vice. And someone’s poured some vile substance into my mouth.”

“It’s called beer.” Her face was sympathetic, even if her words weren’t. Shifting her heavy water carrier onto her head, she flashed him a grin. “If you will spend the night carousing in the tavern, what can you expect?”

“Huh. Knowing Arthur, what I can expect is to have a goblet thrown at my head if I’m late with his breakfast.”  

“Ah, yes. Arthur. Your secret crush.” Giggling, Gwen nudged him with her free elbow, but carefully, as if to avoid making water slop out over the side of her jug. “I was just saying to Morgana how lovely it was to see your name in lights, last night.” She nudged him again. “Done anything about it yet, know what I mean?”

“Damn it, Gwen, not you as well!” said Merlin, with a groan. He supposed that it was too much to hope that no-one had seen the cryptic handwriting that had exposed him so cruelly, but this was the very limit. Gwen was supposed to be his friend! “Some bloody pixie has decided to make my life a misery, by writing lies about me in the sky. That’s all.”

“Aww. And there was me thinking how sweet it all was.”

“Sweet? Thrusting me together with that irritating, supercilious royal ape is not sweet, Gwen! I mean, all right. He’s the prince. And, you know. He’s got an annoyingly melodious voice. But he orders me around in that insufferably domineering way. I mean, I can’t help it if I find bossy men attr… Um. Look, I know some people think he’s got a shapely rump and all. And he’s stupidly noble and brave, at times, when he’s not being a prat. And, he’s handsome enough, in a rough, tough sort of way. If that’s what you like. But, come on!” He looked at her, pleadingly.

“And is it?”

“Is what, what?”

“What you like?” Her mouth tipped up knowingly on one side, and her eyebrows jiggled furiously. Gwen wasn’t as expert in the eyebrow department as Gaius, but she could give him a run for his money.

“No!” Damn. The water in his jug chose that very moment to overflow, making little puddles on the ground, and it was as a result of that that his voice come out all squeaky. Not anything else. Dear me, no.

“Of course not.” If Gwen had been a cat, she would have been purring.

God. He really, really hoped that word did not got to Arthur about this until he’d worked out how to set the heavens to rights. Anyway, the clotpoll would be too hungover this morning to notice anything untoward.

Wouldn’t he?

*

“Ah. Merlin. Pop breakfast on the table, would you?” For once Arthur was already dressed, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed. He was eyeing Merlin with that half-appraising, half-accusing look that he had. The one that meant he was about to say something really, really prattish.

It wasn’t Merlin’s favourite look. His favourite was the one where Arthur would gaze at him, all soft-eyed, as if Merlin was some sort of puzzle box, and Arthur couldn’t wait to take him apart and put him back together to see how he worked. When Arthur looked at him like that, Merlin felt that he could conquer the gods themselves for this man.

But Arthur's face currently bore an expression that presaged imminent cushion-throwing, goblet-hurling and knuckles to the head, and it required fast talking. And, if necessary, quick reactions.

“Before you say anything,” said Merlin, backing away slightly, hoping to get his version of events in first, “I’ve got something I have to tell you.” His eyes darted about, checking the vicinity of Arthur’s hands for potential missiles.

“Oh?” Arthur cocked his head on one side. “And would that have anything to do with your revised horoscope for this morning? An augury? Or this morning’s weather forecast, perchance? Pray, do tell.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, you arrogant prat.” Merlin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look. I can explain. I know you won’t believe me, but it’s nothing to do with me. There was a pixie, one of the particularly pesky ones, and he decided to play a joke on me, that’s all. For Samhain.”

“Oh really. A joke, is it? Plastering my name all over the heavens. Ha bloody ha. Hilarious.”

“It wasn’t my idea!”

“Right. Somehow, I find it hard to believe that you had nothing to do with it, Merlin. Because, hello, look whose name is entwined with mine up there now?”

Swallowing, Merlin strode over to the window, where a series of dawn-lit clouds, no longer an angry orange, but now a delicate shade of pale pink, floated around the love-heart. Spelling a close facsimile of their names. As he watched, one of them morphed into a unicorn, and he could have sworn that it winked at him.

“Shit,” he said.

“Indeed. And how do you suppose we’re going to get rid of it? This…” Arthur gestured out of the window. “Joke.” Crossing his arms, he glared at Merlin.

“I’m working on it.”

“That fills me with confidence. Specifics, Merlin.”

“Er. I hadn’t really…” Merlin swallowed, remembering the pixie’s words, but reluctant to say them out loud. “That is to say I… well, of course, it’s just hearsay, but there was one thing that might just work.”

“Oh? And what hare-brained scheme might that be?” Arthur had adopted that narrow-eyed, pursed-lipped look that Merlin privately dubbed Maximumus Prattus. As Merlin watched, Arthur’s hand closed around an apple, and he tossed it into the air a few times, as if testing its weight. 

“Don’t throw that!” he said, hastily. “I was going to say. Well, that is. I mean to say. Erm. There’s this one thing. Mff mff mf.” Embarrassed, He muttered the last three words into his scarf.

“What did you say?” Frowning, Arthur bit into the apple and started to chew. “Out with it.”

Phew. Merlin had been sure that the apple was destined for his head. That had been a narrow escape.

He watched, mesmerised, trying and failing not to notice how Arthur’s jaw tightened as he chewed. How could the bloody prat manage to look all manly and masculine and noble just eating a piece of apple? How? It was rude, that was what it was. Rude, and somehow just thinking about it made pieces of him hurt. And what with the way that his throat tightened and his chest squeezed shut under the force of his feelings, he just couldn’t say the rest of the sentence out loud.

“Well?” Arthur took a sip of his morning drink, watered down wine, and gestured to him to continue. “It’s unlike you to keep your mouth shut. Normally you blather on and on like a toddler, with about as much consequence. Speak up.”

Arthur always did have an uncanny knack for drawing confessions out of people by pricking their egos. A distant part of Merlin yelled at him to keep his mouth shut, but it was too late.

“I said, you cloth-eared cabbagehead, true love’s kiss.” It was the very limit, having his heart’s closest secrets dragged from him like this.

"And that would have to be you and me, would it?" Arthur glared at him as if it was all Merlin's fault.

"It’s not my fault!" Indignant, Merlin leaned forward to poke Arthur in the chest. "There’s no need to look daggers at me like that! If anything, you're the one to blame! If you hadn’t been so bloody… naked all the time. Parading around with your… your… towel. And all those baths. Honestly, who needs to bathe that often? With all that skin.”

“What?” Grabbing Merlin’s jabbing finger with one fist, Arthur frowned. “You’re saying this is all my fault, you cheeky, insubordinate little bumpkin? Because I have good personal hygiene?”

“No!” Merlin swallowed. “Although, obviously you do. Smell nice, I mean.” He bit his lip before he could betray any more of his inner thoughts. “But manly, too. Obviously. Not too nice. Not girly, I mean.”

“Merlin.” Arthur sighed, walking forward, Merlin’s fist still clamped in his so that he was forced backwards.

“Sire?” With a bump, Merlin’s bum fetched up against the edge of the table, and he found himself being crowded against it, Arthur’s hands hot against his arms, Arthur’s thighs bracketing his legs. “Arthur? What are you doing?”

“You know the sidhe never lie? Don’t you?” said Arthur.  “Tricky little things, but reliably honest, or so I’ve heard.” His mouth felt hot against the sensitive shell of Merlin's ear, and Merlin could smell the wine, sweet on his breath.

“Is that so?” Trembling, quite overwhelmed with Arthur’s sheer presence, pressed up against him all hard and thickly muscled, Merlin felt tiny hot puffs gusting up against his neck each time Arthur spoke, making him shiver and break out in goosebumps.

“Oh yes. Although obviously, the sidhe lack ambition.”

“They do?” 

Arthur’s hands were legendary, the length and breadth of Albion, for their strength and skill with the sword, and the mace. They were busy now, as they worked their way now along Merlin’s flank, to where his buttocks strained against the hard wood of the desk. Merlin couldn’t help wondering what other weapons those hands, so deft and relentless, could wield with such skill. And the thought made a tight clench of need coil in his gut, hot and taut like a watchspring.

“Mmm.” 

Arthur didn’t clarify. Instead, his mouth took Merlin’s, insistent and demanding, yet surprisingly soft and tender. Tasting apple, and feeling an approving hum rise from deep in his chest, Merlin parted his lips. And suddenly they were a mess of tangled lips and tongues, claiming one another with a fierceness that left Merlin feeling breathless and shaky-kneed.

Feeling greatly daring, Merlin shoved his hips forward to meet Arthur’s, gasping into his mouth when the hard, insistent line of Arthur’s erection nudged his. Gods. It felt perfect. If he closed his eyes for a moment, he could just give in to the sensation of Arthur’s lips against his, their bodies working against one another in a slow, inexorable rhythm. His pulse drummed in his ears, drowning out the sound of Arthur’s breaths, and all he could do was feel.

“Like I said,” purred Arthur, a few minutes later, or was it hours?  “Just a kiss? Sorely lacking in ambition.” 

He pulled back for a moment and guiding a kiss-dazed Merlin towards the bed.

“It’s got to be true love’s kiss, Arthur.”

A flash of terror squeezed his heart. What if Arthur didn’t… Merlin stopped abruptly, his breath slowing, gazing into Arthur’s face as if to search for clues.

“What’s the matter.” Lips flushed and bitten-pink, cheekbones starkly underlit by a stray ray that beamed through the window, highlighting the brilliance of his hair, Arthur looked momentarily like a sun-god. “Is this not what you want?”  He bit his lip, in a moment of uncertainty that made Merlin ache.

And it was that sudden vulnerability that finally gave Merlin the courage to say what he meant. Or at least, to attempt to say it.

“No. I mean, yes. Of course, Arthur.” Merlin swallowed. That hadn’t quite come out as he’d hoped. “What I mean to say is… My heart is yours. It always has been, to be honest. Every part of me is yours. I have been pledged to you since the moment that we first met, and I am sworn to remain by your side. I will keep my vow, always…”

“Then there’s no problem. Merlin, You have my heart and my pledge in return. And now, please let’s get on with it.”

But Merlin was on a roll. Distantly registering that Arthur had spoken, he nevertheless felt that he had to carry on, because he hadn’t finished what he’d set out to say.

“…But please, if you don’t care for me in that way…” he said, feeling around for the right words, “I ask you as a man of honour, not to do this. I am not sure that my heart can… Not if you don’t mean it. I mean… I’m sure there’s another way. I can’t… you wouldn’t…” Merlin trailed off, his mind just backtracking to what Arthur had been trying to tell him while his mouth carried on blurting out all his fears. “I do? Get on with what?”

“Shut up, Merlin!”

And there it was, in all its glory. Even as Arthur manhandled him towards the waiting bed, that perfect, exasperated expression crept across his face, soft-eyed and wondering, so dazzling that it eclipsed the dawn itself.

Falling back onto Arthur’s mattress, Merlin tugged hard until Arthur lay on top of him, grinding into him with a force that made him gasp.

“Let’s see what impact debauching your scrawny little bottom will have on the cosmos, shall we?” Arthur’s voice was a low growl, and it pierced Merlin’s gut with a thrill that made him moan out loud.

“Oh, gods, yes,” was all he could say. Because those blunt fingers, rough and calloused, had worked open his braies and slipped beneath them, stroking Merlin with a firm friction that had him arching his neck and crying out.

Abruptly flipping Merlin over, braies halfway to his knees, Arthur straddled his back, pinning Merlin’s arms behind him with one of his own, reaching for something in his bedside table with the other.

Aroused beyond measure, Merlin rutted helplessly into the bed, turning his face into the counterpane to hide the rough noises he made as he arched his back into the heat of Arthur’s bulk.  

“Going to work you open with my fingers,” said Arthur, in a choked-off voice, “Then I’m going to slip inside you and fuck you until you see stars spelling out my name. What say you?”

True to his word, Arthur was already parting Merlin’s cheeks with thick thumbs.

“Yes,” said Merlin, into the bedclothes.

“I can’t hear you.” Arthur’s voice sounded like coarse sandpaper on smooth wood, and it made Merlin ache with want. “What say you?”

“Yes!” Merlin turned his head, craning his neck.

Arthur knelt behind him, flushed-pink and dishevelled with his cock poking proud from the fly of his breeches. Mouth watering at the sight, Merlin moaned again.

“I say yes! Whatever you want! Please, Arthur.” Flexing his hips for emphasis, he groaned at the way that the mattress caressed his erection. “I want you. Always have. Please, Arthur.”

“Needy.”

The feeling of Arthur’s fingers breaching him was odd, at first, and he tensed, but Arthur must have slicked them up with something because they slid in quite easily. After a few minutes they touched a spot that made him shudder.

“Yes! There! Oh God, Arthur.” Overwhelmed at the sensation, Merlin scrabbled mindlessly at the pillow. “Do that again.”

“By all gods, Merlin, look at you.” The tremor in Arthur’s voice made him sound oddly vulnerable, “Look at you.” His fingers withdrew, and he lifted Merlin’s hips away from the bed, one hand at each hip, exposing him, “Is this still all right?”

“Yes, Arthur, by all the gods get on with it.”

“Bossy, impudent jackanapes.” Slapping Merlin’s rump with the flat of his hand so that it stung, but just barely, Arthur chuckled.

His hand splayed along Merlin’s arse cheek, he nudged gently against him, and he felt huge, so much bigger than a finger. His breath hitched and his hands gripped the bed harder as Arthur gently slipped past his last barriers, inching his way in until their bodies were joined. Soon there was nothing, nothing but Arthur and him, together as they’d always been destined to be.

And as they lay entwined later, skin sticky with sweat and cooling in the gentle breeze that gusted through the window, a welcome sound greeted their ears.

“Is it raining?” Merlin didn’t have the energy to turn his head to check. “I should get up.”

“Mmm.” Flinging out an arm, Arthur encircled his ribs possessively. “N’yet.”

“I suppose that means that the sky’s back to normal, at least,” murmured Merlin, closing his eyes once more. Arthur’s arm was too heavy and hot, but the bed, with Arthur’s warm bulk alongside his, was just too delicious to resist. He’d linger for just a moment more.

*

As the prince and his warlock slumbered, far away on the island of Avalon the sprites and pixies and ghouls of Albion held an impromptu celebration. The rain pounded onto the ground, mingling with the earth to create great muddy pools.

“Finally,” said one, elderly gnome, sitting under a dock leaf and puffing at his pipe as he watched the youngsters dancing in the gloop. “Emrys took his time.”

The pixie sitting under a neighbouring leaf nodded. “Let’s hope he doesn’t need quite such a drastic spell to get him to admit to his magic.”

“For all our sakes, I hope you’re right.” Sighing, the gnome took a long draw from his pipe, holding it deep within his lungs before exhaling a set of perfect smoke rings.

“Better start planning next year’s Samhain tricks, then,” said the pixie, grinning. “Just in case.”

 

END

 

 


End file.
